


Jealousy

by everylittlethingshedoesismagic



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: F/F, I am a professional skam-fanfic-writer now, SKAM, another cheesy oneshot, because she IS, it's canon, the one where vilde is a lesbian, trust me on this, what to do when the series isn't gay enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9490277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everylittlethingshedoesismagic/pseuds/everylittlethingshedoesismagic
Summary: Vilde knows she's in love with Eva. It terrifies her and disgusts her, and all she is sure of is that no one can ever know. Especially not Eva.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I assume you've all seen the interview with Julie Andem where she is asked whether Vilde is a lesbian, answering "I'd rather not comment on that?".  
> Yup. I was pretty much convinced after that.  
> Kudos and comments always make my day, so please feel free to leave them. <3 
> 
>  
> 
> Dedicated to Lou, my best friend and the biggest fan of Vilde I have ever met. This is for you. Thank you for encouraging me to watch Skam.

It takes a few moments for Vilde to remember where she is as she wakes from an uneasy sleep. She does not recognize her surroundings the least upon first try, but then again, that has happened before. It is first the partying, then the drinking, lastly the going home with someone. Next morning follows the waking up, the asking yourself why. A well-known pattern, routine to Vilde by now. She has found it to work almost flawlessly to make yourself forget the thoughts and issues that are left when the phenomenons of partying and drinking and making out with nameless faces are taken away. Perhaps it is not the most sustainable solution; but effective, accessible, quick. Easy to explain if someone were to question her behaviour, because everyone does it. Partying-drinking-making out. Partying-drinking-having sex. The usual existence of a remotely socially successful 17 year old, according to the social culture she fights to be a part of.  
The fact that her reasons for following said routine are different, is something she has deemed entirely irrelevant to the matter. 

Her head aches intensely, and she knows she will need water, but she has not yet identified her surroundings and she does not possess the bravery to sneak out into an unknown home’s kitchen. Water will have to wait. The room is murky, full of shadows, empty of light. In terms of her hangover-related headache, she is thankful for it - in terms of her brain struggling to fit the pieces of yesterday’s evening together, much less so. 

_I was with Eva and Noora_ , she tells herself, stubbornly fighting to ignore her pounding headache and rising nausea.  
_I was with Eva and Noora and we were at a party at Emma’s place. We were drinking._

The individual next to her in the unknown yet comfortable king size bed stirs, threatening to wake. Their breath bears the scent of alcohol, but from Vilde’s sensation of an upcoming hangover, she supposes she does, too. 

_Eva was kissing Chris and I was jealous._

Yes. Yes. She remembers now, and her chest pangs with the pain of memory of Eva and Chris making out, Vilde backing away slowly in a desperate attempt not to be in the way. Noora having run off to somewhere, leaving Vilde. Yes, the memories are beyond any doubt flooding back, a violent thunderstorm of them blowing towards the sensitive, poorly constructed brick wall that is her disoriented mind for the moment, crushing it to tiny morsels before re-building it, correctly this time. The heavy impact of memories hits her hard, and she is desperately gasping for breath as she carefully climbs out of bed. 

No clothes.

 _No, of course not, her memory informs her politely._  
She locates them on the floor beneath her, next to her handbag. She puts them on, immensely grateful for her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness.

As she leaves the room, she takes one last look at the girl still sleeping soundly in the king size bed.  
Ida, her mind recollects. Some first-year, yet with a significantly larger quota of bravery and experience than her. She blushes heavily at the thought of their night together, already well aware of the fact that she is going to have to write the sweet girl a Facebook message apologising for not being brave enough to stay. After a moment of blind confusion, she locates her pink jacket and worn converse in a pile in the narrow hallway. Soon she is out of the apartment complex, taking fresh breaths full of oxygen. Crying. She doesn’t make it more than a hundred meters maximum before collapsing on an old bench near the river, a swollen, red-eyed mess of hangover, nausea and tears.

 _You told yourself you would never sleep with a girl_ , her brain is shouting at her with fury. _You told yourself you wouldn’t risk that. You promised yourself._  
Yes. Yes, she did. And she certainly did not intend to last night.  
But she was tipsy and jealous and devastated and Ida was flirty and gorgeous and sympathetic.  
_You told yourself, it contradicts her._  
Yet somehow it happened. The mere thought of it triggers even more tears until the young girl in pink jacket and white dress is practically bawling her eyes out. 

A few people - most of them promenading dogs in various sizes and shapes - pass her by as she is crying. Most ignore her, a couple even shying away as she leans forward to empty her stomach of sour-tasting, burning alcohol and bile. The distasteful substance stains her once white converse. She supposes that it is disgusting.  
_Oh, but Vilde, so are you._

The jacket, which she bought from Zara at their spring sale, does little for warmth. No matter how tightly she wraps her arms around her body, rubbing her hands against her arms, she cannot make herself stop shaking. It makes it difficult to hold her phone and even more difficult to write a text; a whole of four tries is required before she has compiled a somewhat coherent, logical sentence and sent it to the only one she trusts to be awake at this hour. Not even a minute passes before the iPhone is vibrating with a call.  
“Hi.”  
“Vilde? Are you okay? Where are you? What’s happened?” Noora’s familiar voice is audible on the other end. She can hear background noises from a jacket being zipped, shoelaces being tied and her shame of having to do this is mixed with a small dose of relief.  
“I’m okay, Noora. I just… I can’t go home, I can’t come home to my mother like this and I…” Vilde realises she is pleading. It makes her cringe, but she seems to have lost the ability of speaking properly.  
“Where are you?”  
“Near you. I think. By the riverbank. Not far from the park.”  
“Okay. I’m coming to get you. Just stay where you are. I’ll be there in five.”  
“Noora, you don’t have to do this.”  
“It’s what friends are for, Vilde.”  
The call ends at that, her phone battery dying with it. The wind feels like tiny ice crystals punching her repeatedly in the face. It is pleasant somehow, in all its unpleasantness - a welcome distraction from her unquiet mind  
_There is no going back now_ , a quiet voice at the back of her mind is whispering. _You know it wasn’t a mistake_. You know.  
She does know, and it terrifies her deeply.

~

Noora has not put on lipstick, but aside from that, she is as stunning as always in high-waisted jeans and grey coat. Vilde is suddenly conscious of her own bare legs, wrinkly dress and jacket, but Noora has seen her in worse states and not abandoned her.  
“Thank you”, she whispers, throat dry, as she is handed a plastic bottle of water without saying a word. She sips from it carefully, thinking that this is the finest tap water she has ever tasted. Noora watches her, her blue eyes full of concern.  
“What happened, Vilde? Are you… okay?”  
“Yes. No. You wouldn’t understand.”  
“I’ve been through a fair amount of shit in my life. Try me.” She sits down next to her friend, scooting as close to her as possible. “What happened after I left?”  
“Eva and Chris hooked up.”  
“I saw that.”  
“I was jealous.”  
“Don’t be jealous, Vilde. Chris is a fuckboy who isn’t worthy neither of Eva nor you. We’ve had this discussion.”  
“I wasn’t jealous because of Chris”, she confesses, chest tight once again. “Well, I was. But not like that.” Noora looks at her quizzically, a bewildered expression in her eyes.  
“Sorry. I’m not following.”  
“I followed someone home.”  
“Okay…?” Noora looks questioning still, which only makes the crippling anxiety and chest pain worsen by the second.  
“Noora, I followed a girl home. I slept with her.”

There is an absolute silence from the otherwise so talkative girl. The girl with all the answers, stunned speechless by a simple sentence.  
“Oh”, is all she says. “Did you… want to?”  
“Yes. I was drunk, but yes.”  
“Oh.” Vilde can feel tears racing down her cheeks again, destroying the already smudged foundation and blusher, not to talk about the gold eyeshadow. Then she is crying, noisy and repelling, and Noora gives her a clean napkin before hugging her tight. They must be an interesting view for people walking past, she ponders. Two blonde teenager girls, one proper-looking, one an absolute mess inside out.  
“Let’s go to my place”, Noora proposes after receiving an especially stern look from an older lady in green rain-boots walking her poodle. “I feel like this conversation would be improved by adding tea into the equation.”

~

She is right. Of course she is, but Vilde is deficient in energy for feeling irritated about it right now. Not when Noora has lent her a clean pair of sweatpants, wrapped her in a silky blanket and placed her in the sofa with a mug of steaming lemon tea - no milk, no sugar, tiny bit of honey - and a plate of digestive crackers.  
“Thought potatoes were your philosophy.”  
“Don’t have them at home. Admittedly, I usually don’t have them for breakfast. But there is hot chocolate if you want some.”  
“No, this is fine.” She bites into the cracker, careful not to get crumbles over the entire sofa. “Thank you.”  
“You don’t have to say thank you. I already told you - this is what friends do.” Noora is leaned back with her back against the armrest, teacup in hand and eyes closed. “I couldn’t sleep anyway. Eskild brought some guy home. The glorious life of three young people living in a four-room apartment with thin walls.” Vilde lets Noora talk. She is not really listening - her exhaustion is far too intense and her thoughts far too loud - but the sound of it comforts her. Listening to it makes it easier to believe that everything is normal, that it is going to be okay, even though it isn’t and it won’t. Noora’s voice is soft and familiar, reminding her of conversations in corridors and kitchens together with her very best friends. It is the sound of safety, the sound of the very two things she is positive she will never acquire again. 

A picture is burned in the back of her mind, etched there forever. A picture of Eva and Chris making out, her next to them, observing every detail, aware of every move that Eva is making. Jealousy spirals instantly through the fibers of her body.  
_It should’ve been me. I know I don’t deserve it, but I wish that it’d been me._  
“You weren’t jealous of Eva yesterday, were you?” Noora is dipping her teabag mindlessly in her cup, letting it float from side to side as the flavour is added to the hot water. “You were jealous of Chris.”  
“You figured it out.” Her friend nods slowly, seemingly deep in thought.  
“Since?”  
“Since she made out with me at that party. The one where you kissed William.” Vilde dips the remaining piece of her cracker in the tea before eating it.  
“Does she know?”  
“Of course not.” Vilde gives Noora a frightened stare, “Of course she doesn’t know. I’m sure she doesn’t feel the same.”  
“Have you asked her? She was the one who made out with you at that party.”  
“Because she was drunk out of her mind, yes.”  
“That doesn’t exclude the possibility of her feelings being genuine.”  
“Doesn’t it? I don’t know if you’ve noticed this”, Vilde points out, an ironic tone to her voice, “but Eva kind of has a rumour of making out with whoever and whatever when drunk.”  
“A rumour you gave her, if I remember correctly.” Noora sighs, shifting position, “Vilde, we both know Eva. She gets drunk, and she does gets slightly insane at times - can’t argue to that - but you will have severe trouble finding anyone more caring, loving and genuine in the world, even inebriated. She loves you, Vilde, and I have never asked her, but…” she shrugs her shoulders. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”  
“You really think there’s a chance she likes me like that? No one ever does.”  
“You know that’s nothing but a blatant lie. To answer your real question, I think you’d be a fool not to ask her about it.”

~

It takes over an hour of Noora’s enthusiastic, determined convincing before Vilde begins to consider a text. Another hour and a visit to McDonald's for fries before she actually writes it.  
“I’m going to regret this. She’s not going to answer. Noora, this is not going to go well.”  
“You don’t know that for sure.” Noora is jumping up and down on the sidewalk outside of McDonald’s, either of cold or enthusiasm. Perhaps a little bit of both, is Vilde’s well-estimated guess.  
“This is scary.”  
“Vilde, you’re simply asking her to meet with you. You’re going to be fine.”  
“How do you know?”  
“Send. The. Text.”  
“Okay! Stop stressing!” The stubborn march sun has finally left its lair between the thick layer of grey clouds, and its rays are warming her cheeks as she presses the blue circle with the white arrow, sending the text. She is shaking, although not due to the cold this time, and Noora has both hands on her shoulders. The three word message loads, then sends. Vilde cannot help but think that this is the moment her whole world changes; there is no going back from here.  
Everybody will know now. Eva will know now.  
The two facts terrify her equally.

Eva’s answer arrives before a minute has passed.  
_Okay. Where?_

 _Your place?_ Vilde texts back. Then _Are you home?_

_Yeah.  
Come over?_

_Okay._

It is one single word, yet it feels so final. 

~

Noora has to follow Vilde to the door in order to ensure she doesn’t back out last minute. Vilde catches her smiling as they eventually part outside Eva’s front door, seemingly in a far better mood than Vilde self.  
_Of course she is. She doesn’t have to go through the process of not only admitting to a friend you have feelings for them, but also admitting this to a friend of the same gender._  
The doorbell echoes through the house. Vilde is shifting nervously from one foot to another, hands in her pockets, as she waits impatiently.  
Eva opens the door wearing nothing but an oversized grey sweatshirt and boxers. Her hair is in a loose ponytail, and Vilde notices how she’s attempted washing her face to seem more awake. She’s missed some dirt in the corner of her left eye.  
_You have to stop noticing these things._  
“Hi.”  
“Hi.”  
“You wanted to talk, or... “ Eva steps back, gesturing Vilde to enter the uncharastically neat hallway.  
“Yes, I… I just wanted to say one thing, really.”  
She is unable to endure the trial of eye contact, so she focuses on the specks of dried vomit on her converse instead.  
“I was jealous when I saw you and Chris yesterday”, she stutters, voice shaky.  
“Uh-huh?” Eva looks confounded by this, raising a quizzical eyebrow.  
“Not of you. I was jealous of Chris. And it’s taken me a long time - far too long - to realise and come to terms with it, but… fuck. I can’t do this. I don’t know how to.” She wipes away a stubborn tear, despising herself for getting herself into this mess, despising Noora for pressuring her to do this. “Do you remember that party last year? Where you were drunk out of your mind and you kissed me?”  
“I wasn’t that drunk”, Eva retorts defensively.  
“I had to hold your hair back as you threw up in the river.” Vilde manages a smile.  
“Fair. Maybe I was. What about it?”  
“I know it didn’t mean anything. It’s just… it changed something for me. I know it probably didn’t for you, but it’s just…”  
“Sschh.” Eva presses a finger to Vilde’s lips. “Don’t say that.”  
“It’s true.”  
“Look at me”, she orders, and Vilde obeys, staring into her friend and recently-admitted-crush’s gleaming, turquoise eyes.  
“I’m hungover, but I promise I’m not drunk.” She opens her mouth to respond, but Eva’s lips are faster. She is unprepared for them, bewildered about what’s happening, but she accustoms quickly. Her heart is beating fast, fast, so fast she is dizzy, only she doesn’t want to let go of Eva because they are so close now they’re practically one and the kiss makes her forget, deletes all memories of the events leading up to this. Eva’s lips are smooth, a little damp from water and she is a much better kisser now, sober, than the last time.

_Maybe you’re not that disgusting, her brain whispers as they part for oxygen. Not if this is what you get for being whatever you are._

“So what does this mean?” She asks, foolishly, after either the third or fourth interval of kissing.  
“As far as I’m concerned, it means I’m going to kiss you again and then we’ll take it from there.”  
“That’s okay with me”, she whispers, breathless, and this time she is the one initiating the kiss.


End file.
